


Hope

by taniaterror



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 4x11 rewrite, Canon Divergent, M/M, Panic Attacks, mentions of Mike - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taniaterror/pseuds/taniaterror
Summary: Quentin had miscalculated the spell. He wasn't at Brakebills South anymore; he was transported back to the Physical Kids' Cottage.OrPresent!Q meets past!Eliot





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic contribution to the fandom! I've been wanting to write some Queliot fic for a while now, but nothing panned out. Until now!
> 
> Enjoy!

Quentin had miscalculated the spell. He wasn't at Brakebills South anymore; he was transported back to the Physical Kids' Cottage. Quentin had been in his Brakebills South room only for a moment when he brought his hand to his face and saw that it was flickering in and out of sight. Now he was standing in his room at the cottage. He was without his shoes but at least he still had his pants, though they were around his ankles. He promptly pulled them up and found another pair of shoes, before deciding on his next move.

There was a mirror over his dresser. He went to it and examined himself. Nothing seemed like cause for alarm. He supposed he should be grateful he didn't leave any pieces of himself back at Brakebills South. But Quentin had definitely botched the spell somehow, and if he had just been relocated to his room at the cottage, that was no big deal. He could get back to Antarctica. He bitterly promised to himself he would never tell Alice about this, especially after he had assured her he could do the spell properly.

Quentin opened his bedroom door but upon entering the hallway it felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

"Eliot?" There he was. It was him. It was Eliot - only not, somehow. Not _his_ Eliot. There were no bags under his eyes, he wore a silk robe strategically giving onlookers a good view of his chest, and his hair, shorter, had that post-sex mussed look. Wait, Quentin thought. When he was at Brakebills South, Eliot would have been with _Mike_.

"Quentin," Eliot said. He didn't say _Q_. "You're not supposed to be here."

How was this fair right now, Quentin thought. He was struck silent. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He looked past Eliot, at Eliot's bedroom door. There, behind it, was Mike - no, The Beast.

There was a hand on Quentin's shoulder, and he shuddered away from Eliot, not realizing how close he'd gotten.

"Shit, Quentin," Eliot said, shuffling them back into Quentin's room and sitting him on the bed. "Just um, count, okay," he said, not touching him anymore. And oh, Quentin realized he was hyperventilating. "Just watch what I'm doing, try to count with me." Quentin nodded at Eliot kneeling before him and tried to match Eliot's breathing first. He began counting backwards with Eliot somewhere around sixty.

The attack lasted a while, longer than he'd had since back when he was an undergrad. And those were some pretty bad days, but so were these.

"I'm sorry," Quentin said at last. Eliot looked as shaken as Quentin felt, so Quentin thought it appropriate to apologize.

Eliot sighed, his shoulders drooping and his head giving a disapproving yet fond shake. "I'll get you a glass of water."

"No, don't leave."

The look on Eliot's face proved the pleading in Quentin's voice was not lost on him. "Q… what the fuck?" _Q_.

"I, uh - I just need to get back to Brakebills South." He stood abruptly but Eliot got in between him in the door.

"C'mon… you're clearly not okay. Please, _Q_."

Quentin turned away from him.

"See? That, right there," Eliot said, "everytime I call you 'Q', you react. And, you don't want me to touch you. What the hell is going on?"

"I'll be fine," Quentin said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible for his next words. "Just go back to Mike."

"How do you know about Mike?"

Shit, good one, Coldwater, Quentin thought. He sank back onto the bed. "We'll have to do a memory charm."

"Because you're from…" Eliot let himself trail off.

"The future," Quentin confirmed. "Or, my consciousness is. I need Mayakovsy for something. And I was supposed to wake up at Brakebills South, and I did. Only, I fucked it up and I got transported here…" Quentin sighed tiredly. "It's a whole thing."

"Obviously," Eliot said, taking a step forward. "Can I sit?"

Quentin deliberated for a moment then made room for Eliot at the foot of his bed.

"So, that still doesn't explain why I freak you out."

"Not you, not exactly. I can't say too much. Something happens - to you. I'm trying to fix it."

"Then I guess I'm in good hands."

Quentin scoffed. "How can you just say that?" _How can you believe that?_

"Because you're looking at me… pretty intensely." Eliot said, pausing briefly and then continuing. "Are we -" He cut himself off.

It surprisingly brought a small smile to Quentin's face. "Whatever you're thinking right now, it's a lot more complicated than that."

The Beast, Eliot's downward spiral over killing Mike, losing him to Fillory, losing Alice when she became a Niffin. Setting Alice free, getting her back but not the same. Their relationship dragging on because it was the only happiness they'd ever known. Just wanting things to be as they were before, clinging to that past - their past. But that wasn't what he wanted from Eliot, was it? Quentin stared into Eliot's eyes. These hazel eyes that weren't weighed down by the responsibility of a whole kingdom and possession of a monster. No, when they came back from the mosaic, he'd thought he'd made that clear. He didn't want the Eliot before him, and he didn't want the Eliot from their fifty years in Fillory. He didn't want a repeat of mosaic-Eliot, he wanted Eliot as he was when they returned to their proper timeline. He still wanted him.

To his credit, Eliot hadn't buckled under Quentin's scrutiny. But before he could speak, Quentin blurted out, "Kiss me."

"Excuse me?" Eliot sounded a bit alarmed.

"It's not what you think. I just wanna make sure." He had to, he had to be certain.

Eliot hesitated. "If you feel uncomfortable-"

"I'll let you know," Quentin promised.

The first thing Eliot did was place a hand on Quentin's neck. It made him shiver, but he didn't feel like recoiling this time. It felt different. It felt different from The Monster and it felt different from Eliot - his Eliot. The Monster's hands were dirty, sticky, splattered in blood, or dirt, or candy and junk food residue, or some combination thereof. His Eliot had hands a little rougher, older, but gentle and comforting. This Eliot had hands that had long forgotten Eliot's labor intensive childhood of Indiana. Quentin was struck by a first year memory. Eliot constantly applying lotion to his hands. He laughed. Eliot really hadn't wanted anyone to know he was a farm boy.

Quentin closed his eyes and leaned into Eliot. There was surprise in Quentin, he hadn't noticed before this Eliot was clean shaven. Now he missed the scruff and promised that if he ever got to kiss his Eliot again, he'd never ask him to shave. Quentin thought he could sense surprise in Eliot as well, like Eliot couldn't believe Quentin was really kissing him right now. After the initial caution, Quentin felt Eliot press his mouth harder on his. He made a startled noise at the back of his throat and pulled away.

"Sorry," Eliot quickly apologized.

"No, no, its good - just." Quentin dry swallowed and thought he should have let Eliot get him a glass of water after all. "You kiss different than _he_ does." _You_ are _different from him_.

"Than future me? That's who you mean, isn't it?" Eliot asked, breathless, a smile spreading across his face. "You can tell us apart from our kisses?"

Quentin smiled back. "You're putting too much into it. You're being showy about it."

Eliot pretended to be affronted. He wasn't. They both knew that, and they both laughed. It provided a levity for Quentin that he greatly longed for since the beginning of this whole mess, and he soaked it up appreciatively.

It was Eliot's turn to stare at Quentin, though, and Quentin wasn't as good about it as Eliot had been. "What?" he asked.

"Suddenly I can't wait for the future."

The still of Quentin's heart ached and it felt like it only remembered to beat again when he silently commanded it to.

"So," Eliot continued, "this thing with Mike doesn't last."

Quentin thought about what he could say. What use did it have to tell Eliot who Mike really was when he had to forget all of this. Instead Quentin rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I never liked him."

It was true. Even before they'd all learned Mike's true identity, the moment he returned from Brakebills South, Quentin didn't trust him. He couldn't place the source of his feelings then, but now, he knew. Meeting Eliot in front of Brakebills that first fateful day, never feeling uncomfortable about Eliot's open affection and flirtation, that day in the lawn when he'd first met Mike and how he couldn't stand the sight of him, the threesome, the coronation, the _everything_. It was all there, right from the beginning. Quentin had just been too much of a disaster to see it.

Eliot immediately lit up, pleased as punch with this jealous, spiteful version of Quentin. "I wish I could remember all this."

"It would mess everything up."

"Sounds pretty messed up anyway, considering you have to resort to time travel to fix whatever's going on." Quentin only looked blankly at him. "Right, you can't say," Eliot sighed. "Well, I better do this memory charm then."

They got the spell ready in silence. Eliot stood before Quentin's dresser, his hands at the ready, Quentin standing a few feet away from him.

"I hope whatever problem there is in the future," Eliot began, turning towards Quentin, "that it gets resolved, and we can…"

"Yeah, me too," Quentin said. And then, because he knew Eliot's memory would be wiped, he gained a boost of confidence. "El," he said, not _Eliot_. "I hope you do remember. Because when you go back to your room and fuck Mike, I want you to think of me."

The stunned, heated look in Eliot's eyes was totally worth it. Eliot made a move towards him, but Quentin shook his head, and with great difficulty, Eliot remained in place.

"I'm not who you think I am," Quentin said. "And you're not who I wish you were, not yet, anyway."

"And you have to go."

"I do."

"I'll see you soon, then," Eliot said, beginning the tut.

"I hope so."

Quentin left the room. He lingered against the door for a moment, taking in a deep gulp of air. He could do this now. He was going to get his Eliot back.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I actually liked 4x11, but I also wanted to be self-indulgent and write about Present Q meeting s1 Eliot.  
> I know emotions are still probably high from last night, since I also know most people, unlike me, did not like the episode. _Hope_ this gave you a little relief. (See, what I did there?)
> 
> Anyway, come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://demiromanticmickey.tumblr.com/)  
> [Reblog fic here](http://demiromanticmickey.tumblr.com/post/183950379785/hope-taniaterror-the-magicians-tv-archive)


End file.
